Thursday, December 24, 2009

Our move from Richville went relatively well and this apartment, if not the height of chic, at least has a roof. Of course, moving would never have been an issue if Hubby Dearest hadn't embezzled those funds. Well, the embezzlement was not so much the problem, but covering his tracks sure as hell was. What do they teach them in business school?

So now, he lives in a 12x12 cell and wears an orange jumpsuit. And lovelies, orange is SO not his colour. Makes him look quite green around the gills actually. Truly, they really must revise the colour palette in that place. He seems to be adapting well at least, he has a new friend called Bubba. Big man, seems to treat hubby well - quite taken with him Bubba is. Almost as if... naw. Anyway, it's nice to know he's doing ok.

It's also nice to know that idiot "girlfriend" of his is out in the cold, the bitch. Of course, she'll fall on her feet, they always do that sort ; there'll be another rich idiot man to pick her up and dust her off for another round.

I'd divorce his sorry ass, but I believe in standing by my man, especially when there's a secret account somewhere out in the Caribbean. In a few years we'll be living the life we were meant to live once again. Temporary setback. Yes, that's all it is.

The children are well, as always, at least I think they are.

Adolescent Boy has finally made friends. I'm so happy for him. True, they tend to be a bit rowdy (but they're teenagers, what can you expect) and love doing target practice from car windows, but I consider it building a skill set he never would have built up otherwise. Shooting a moving target while moving yourself seems like it would be really really difficult. I'm proud of my boy for stepping up. I do wonder though, why he has all those small cellophane bags of flour in his room. Maybe he's thinking of starting cooking school! It would be nice to have a cook in the family. People obviously cook much less than they used to if flour is sold in such small bags now. I wonder what the inside of a supermarket looks like...

Teenage Daughter has started a part-time job. She works evenings. A wonderful little go getter Teenage Daughter is. Personally, I think she must be rather cold in those stilettos and minis, especially in the snow, but you know how teenagers are. There's no talking to them. And she seems so popular! A few times, I came home from shopping (times are tough, so I have to keep my spirits up you know!) in the afternoon and she had friends over. Boyfriends. Never the same one though, she goes through men like I don't know what. Such a popular girl. She takes after me in that. I was such a popular teenager, though my mother wouldn't let me have boyfriends in my room. But times change, don't they?

Other Son... well, um.. I'm not sure I have one. There's a bedroom, there's a closed door and there's strange noises coming, I suppose from his computer. He's "gaming" apparently, whatever that means.

The other day, I had a visit from some nice men in suit regarding Other Son, they said they were from some place called Pentagon or something - sounds like that must be a really nice store catering to teenagers, but I don't quite remember, I was leaving to go shopping.... Maybe that was important? If it was, they'll no doubt be back. They mentioned something about hacking. Hacking what? Does Other Son have a hacking cough? Seems I would have heard him, but with the door closed all the time, well, I don't want to intrude...

And so, friends and family, another year comes to an end. It was a trifle trying at times, but this too will pass.

Wishing you a wonderful Holiday Season,

The Smiths

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

And on that note, I bid you all adieu, most probably until the new year. May your holidays be merry and bright and empty of angst and expectations.

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Thursday, December 17, 2009

I'm doing it too - with slight edits. Seems everyone is recycling Christmas posts. It's the perfect time for regifting after all - especially those posts that were written before the advent of readers in this blog:

Rudolph, the red-nosed reindeerhad a very shiny nose. And if you ever saw him, you would even say it glows.

All of the other reindeer used to laugh and call him names. They never let poor Rudolph join in any reindeer games.

Then one foggy Christmas Eve Santa came to say: "Rudolph with your nose so bright, won't you guide my sleigh tonight?"

Then all the reindeer loved him as they shouted out with glee, Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer, you'll go down in history!

Now, I ask you, is this crap or what?

They hated him because of his difference, because of his red nose. Because he was a serious drinker, and a nasty drunk perhaps? Unless he had roseacea - they really should be more specific...

Point is Rudy was an outcast. And one night, because of the fog, he's shown favour by the fat man in red and suddenly all the other reindeer love him? I think not.

Au contraire. It would annoy the hell out of the others that he of all reindeer has been picked as the leader. The outcast as boss? Um, don't think so. Or at any rate they wouldn't be shouting out for glee. Grumbling and bitching? Definitely

And a red nose does nothing in the fog. If it were yellow, it could help, but red? Not so much, so what's up with that?.

You might point out that I'm anthropomorphizing these animals, but hey, I didn't start it - have you ever seen a reindeer shout out with glee? I rest my case.

Thus I feel safe in assuming they act like humans all the time - which is rather fucked up in and of itself, but that's a whole different ballgame (or reindeer game as the case may be)..

Wednesday, December 09, 2009

You all know my feelings about the proverbial white stuff. I've never made a secret of it - not a big fan of winter.

Unfortunately, unlike most of her green batrachian kind the Jazzer can't just dig under the mud and hibernate for a few months. It's that whole damn earning a living thing... Not a big fan of earning a living either. It's highly overrated.

And so.

It's snowing on Montreal. Coming down like there's no tomorrow. Or today. Depending on the media and how given they are to blowing stuff out of proportion we're expecting anything from 10 to 35 cm of snow (you Americans can convert it yourselves, there are tons of handy metric converters on the internet, gotta love the internet for sparing us the bother of calculating it in our poor overworked heads). Is it just me or is there a HUGE margin for error here? It's like weather prediction in the 21st century is still a crystal ball thing.

Most likely, we'll end up with something like 5 cm.

Aside: OK, I did it. I'm anal that way. I couldn't just leave it. So we're expecting anywhere from 4 to 14 (give or takes) inches.

And so.

People will be acting as if they've never seen snow before today. As if this were a first. As if they and their ancestors and the ancestors before their ancestors all the way up to the first moron off the boat who thought it would be a wonderful idea to settle here didn't get masses of snow every winter. Hell people it's not like you don't KNOW what winter is all about. Get over it!

Except me. Cause I don't bitch about the heat so I can bitch about winter. So there. Them's my rools.

And so.

Schools were closed already this morning before the snow even started. In case. I remember when schools would be closed only if the storm had already hit overnight. Yeah, I know. I know. I'm becoming my "back-when-we-were-kids" parents. You know, the you-young'uns-have-it-so-much-easier school of thought. In my defense, several people at work said the same thing when they got in. Either we're all getting old or everyone is a wuss today. Even in the latter case, we are all getting old regardless.

Sometimes I wonder, since it's getting so much easier for each subsequent generation, how mankind has actually managed to survive thus far. The mind boggles.

And so.

Traffic will be hell tonight; lots of people with no winter tires yet - because remember, we never get snow here in December, and everyone will be all traumatized that yeah, it's actually happened, we've gotten snow.

On a day like this, there's something to be said for public transport.

And so

Tonight and tomorrow it'll be news. Headliner on radio and TV. Front page in the papers. Because lordamighty we actually got snow in Montreal. SNOW!!! Who'da thunk it? Goddamn! It might actually displace Tiger and his ever more numerous female companions who keep oozing out of the woodwork.

Why is this news on all the "serious" media from the CBC to the Washington Post rather than on Entertainment Tonight? This isn't news, this is something between him and his wife.

What's the fascination? Fer chrissake, the guy's famous for playing a sport where the point is whacking a tiny ball for miles and wearing ugly pants (unless they're over the ugly pants thing?) to great monetary advantage.

Why is this news? and more to the point, why does anyone care how he lives his private life? The operative word here being PRIVATE.

I know some will argue that actually he's a public figure, thus so is his life. That's bullshit. I don't care how public you are, you're still entitled to a private life, no matter who you're with in your car.

Why do people rejoice so much in the "downfall" of public figures - remember Clinton and all those other politicians? And have you ever noticed that it's almost always about sex? Why do people get so damn het up about sex?

Just a thought in passing, and moving away from Woods for a bit, I can't help but think many politicians have much worse stuff going on than sex scandals, things involving corruption and bribes and such. Things that should concern us as citizens, but nope, it's the guy who dips his wick in the wrong vat of wax who makes the front page. Maybe if people weren't so busy sniffing out sex "scandals" they'd sniff out the important stuff.

Wednesday, December 02, 2009

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Quite a while ago - could it have been this summer? - Geewits did a post consisting of her thoughts on five different words and offered to give five words to whoever wanted them.

I did - hey, easy post eh?

She gave me the words; being me, I promptly ignored them. I'm good at ignoring stuff, it's my talent.

But I've finally gotten to it, so here we go...

Napping

There's nothing better than a good nap. On a Saturday afternoon. On the couch. After a nice cup of tea. In front of the fire. Oh yeah.

Or in bed in the summertime with cool sheets and nekkid butt. Or on a hammock.. or or or....

And it's ever so easy to just slip away that way - get comfy and you're off.

So why don't I just do more of it? I often feel like having a nap (at work, surprise surprise) but even on weekends, I rarely give in. Some sort of guilt thing I suppose. I am very good at sitting around doing nothing (another talent! just ask Mr. Jazz), but somehow, napping just seems too self indulgent. I'm not getting anything done (yes, this is a paradox for someone who can stare into space for 30 minutes at at time), but it seems I should at least be trying to vacuum or read or watch trash TV.

I'd love to sail. I would. I adore water - especially the ocean. But for some reason I rarely clamber into (onto?) anything bigger than a canoe (where I tend to go around in circles) or a pedal boat - and we all know how that turned out. Which might explain why I'm never invited on anyone's boat. That or the fact that I don't know anyone with a boat bigger than a pedal boat... Unless of course they're all hiding their yachts from me. Yacht. What a perfectly bizarre word that is. And why don't they spell it Yat?

Italy

I've never been. But it's on the list - as are so many other places. The world is so huge, life is so short. I'm sure I'll die before I see it all - or even most of it. I'm thankful to have travelled as much as I have, to have seen Ecuador and Nepal and Vietnam among other places. But I haven't even set foot in Africa, I've never seen Italy or Spain or Portugal. That's sort of sad.

Fact is, nowadays I tend to prefer traveling to see friends I rarely get to see. Maybe it's age creeping up on me (though most days I feel as if rather than creeping, it's roaring towards me like an 18 wheeler on the highway) but keeping in contact takes precedence over seeing new places. At this point anyway. I'm sure I'll see Italy eventually - and it won't be on a 15 cities, 10 days tour - but before then I'll no doubt see friends in Belgium, France, Australia and the US several times.

This had nothing to do with Italy right? Damn.

Dancing

Remember Elaine on Seinfeld? 'Nuff said.

Ok, I'm nowhere near that bad, I do dance to the beat rather than to the beat of my own drummer, but I've never felt comfortable dancing. Perhaps because I'm an introvert, dancing makes me feel uncomfortable. Wrong. Outside myself. Just somehow off. It just makes me uncomfortable dammit!

I've felt like taking dance classes pretty often over the years though. Perhaps because having the steps means you know what to do, how and when to do it. And not only do you not make a total fool of yourself, you impress the hell out of everyone else. Impressing the hell out of everyone would be good.

Eggs

I love them. I love the shape of them, I love the colours of them, I love their fragility and their strength. I love their variety.

I also love to eat them. Unfortunately, they don't return that particular lovin'.

For some reason, over the past few years I've developed difficulty digesting eggs. Not eggs used in cooking things like crepes or cake. Eggs as eggs. In some forms more than others. Omelets do not agree with me. At all. Nor do scrambled eggs. Fried eggs go over much easier (rereading this I just realized there's a pun there! I'm clever I am, or would be if I realized I was making a pun...), as do hard boiled. Egg salad sandwiches. Mmmmm. Poached seems to work-ish. But none of them leave my stomach feeling deliriously happy and content for more than half an hour. I react worse to some forms of cooked eggs. Is it the IBS? Maybe. Is this too much information? No doubt.

But as my love cannot be denied, I sometimes eat them anyway. That half hour of delirious happiness is worth the subsequent feelings of "why do you hate me so!!". Sometimes.